


Concession

by Twilight Fang (Asthenos)



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 11:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19393357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Twilight%20Fang
Summary: Jackson is convinced into giving Reid what he wants. (Ambiguously takes place at the end of season 5, while straying from canon.)





	Concession

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t sure about posting this... For one thing, I’m not entirely comfortable with writing in the present tense. >_<
> 
> This idea just popped into my head and I thought I would go ahead and share it. Please let me know what you think by leaving a comment, especially if you think this is worth writing a second part to. ^_^

Homer Jackson stands at the top of the steps leading to The Jewish Orphanage, gazing blankly in the direction of the front yard where the children are playing. A cigarette dangles from between his pursed lips, creating little puffs of smoky clouds that trail upwards into the clear blue sky. 

As the children run around chasing each other, screaming and shouting, in a maelstrom of irrepressible youthful energy, Homer watches and shudders. He wonders what he’s doing here on a beautiful Sunday afternoon when he could be elsewhere. Unbidden, a list of alternative locations spring to mind, like a fountain of forbidden knowledge. Places like the St. James Club that welcomes all like-minded gamblers, or the brothel on Adeline Grove where men go to have their fantasies fulfilled, or even the Ten Bells Pub that boasts the cheapest whisky in town.

Unfortunately, Homer has been forced to give up all of those places as a result of hooking up with Edmund Reid. Although not a churchgoer - _Thank God!_ \- Edmund can be a sanctimonious nag when he chooses to act as such, bitching at Homer about commitment and propriety. And Homer, thinking himself above the petty domestic disputes that ruin so many other couples, plays the part of the obedient partner by casting off the morally sodden lifestyle that once defined him.

So why is he cowardly lurking outside of Deborah Gorem’s orphanage, instead of joining Edmund inside? Because he’s terrified of Edmund’s single-mindedness, that’s why.

Not three days ago, Edmund upset the picture perfect, sated lifestyle that Homer has worked so hard to finance. With Edmund at home under the pretense of doing some sort of research, Homer finds himself burdened with the task of supporting them both.Not that he wishes to complain about it because the idea of keeping Edmund, both literally and figuratively, fills him with a foolish pride that leaves a perpetual grin on his lips. On his salary he can’t afford much, but it’s enough to get them a quaint little flat sandwiched between two others that don’t look as nice. They’re a stone’s throw away from the tenements, and further off from the upper middle class, but Edmund doesn’t seem to mind and that’s all that matters.

So three nights prior, Homer was gazing down at Edmund, mesmerized by those pleading blue eyes of his, and drowning in the soft whimpers and moans that indicated his lover was sensuously enjoying himself. How could he not be? Homer always goes all out when it comes to pleasuring the man whom he loves. The sight of the unattainable Edmund Reid lying beneath him, his flesh warm and flushed from their lovemaking, his expression one of delirious europhia, inspires Homer to go for another round. He’s snug inside Edmund, thrusting deeper into the welcoming warmth and tightness of him, when Edmund suddenly speaks.

“I would have a child, Homer.”

Homer nearly loses his erection then and there.

“Huh?”

Moving quicker and more frantically now, trying to finish before Edmund can speak again and ruin the mood, Homer is distracted by the range of emotions that take over his handsome lover’s features. The eagerness comes out on top, but not a day goes by that Edmund isn’t exuding it, so Homer ignores it. It’s the heartfelt longing, hopefulness, and fear that get him. Edmund is afraid that Homer is going to refuse to acknowledge his request, which is a justifiable fear because where the hell had such a desire sprung from anyhow?

“My Mathilda is already grown and living far from reach...” Edmund pauses to gasp when Homer grinds into him a little more aggressively with the intention of silencing him. This is _not_ the time to be discussing children, or anything else that might deflate Homer’s interest. But this fantasy of Edmund’s has obviously had a long time to put down roots and flourish for it proves impossible to navigate around. “And your Connor is a world away...”

“And that’s the way I’d have it,” Homer grunts, punctuating each word with the movement of his hips. He links his hands with Edmund’s, trapping his lover in place as he leans down to kiss him. Edmund readily offers himself up to the kiss, parting his lips and inviting Homer’s tongue inside. The kiss is luxuriously slow and sweet, suspiciously sweet in fact. Neither of them are held prisoner to a sweet tooth, but today Edmund tastes like sugared fruits. It’s a flavor that Homer chases after with his tongue for a bit, wondering after it, before breaking the kiss to look at Edmund accusingly. “Fruit pastilles, really?” He now knows that he has lost the argument before it’s even begun because Edmund has purchased confectionaries from Mrs. Durham. Out of curiosity, Edmund probably sampled one or two, but his main purpose for buying them was no doubt to impress some lucky rugrat.

“If money is your chief concern, I will gladly return to work on Leman Street,” Edmund offers, like he is so sure of why Homer might object to his proposal at enlarging their humble little family.

“It ain’t money that I’m worried about,” Homer assures him, moving in for another kiss because damn those candies taste good! When they break for air, Homer hushes Edmund by whispering huskily into his ear. “And you aren’t to return to that god-awful hellhole. I’d just as soon sell one of my kidneys on the black market as allow it. You’ve served your time, darlin’, and besides, you’d just end up getting in the way. _My_ way. I’d be tempted to repurpose my dead room during my lunch break.”

The possessiveness Edmund ignores, but not the blatant flattery. “Why Homer, you cannot possibly be implying that you have such tenuous control over your manhood,” he teases as he meets Homer’s next thrust with just as much enthusiasm. “And in the dead room, of all places... Have you no sense of professional decorum?”

Surprisingly, this natural bantering has gotten Homer all worked up again, but then again, all aspects of Edmund have this effect on him. “Darlin’, shut the hell up and let me finish before my balls turn blue.”

The next few minutes Homer spends driving Edmund mad with sensation and longing, bringing him to the point of ecstasy and holding him there, until Homer himself finds his release deep inside his lovably irritating muse. Only then does he take the time to entertain the seriousness of Edmund’s proposal. Slipping from the heat of his lover with a regretful sigh, he flops himself down beside Edmund on the brand new bed that his last pay cheque paid for.

“There is nothing else in this world capable of assuaging this fond desire, I suppose,” he says in defeat as he fishes around on the nightstand, locating his pack of cigarettes by touch alone. God does he ever need a smoke! Once Edmund has set his sights on something, nothing short of the catastrophic end of the world can derail his motivation.

“I thought we agreed that you would cease and desist smoking and drinking in bed,” Edmund complains in a breathless tone.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Homer admires the disheveled state he has left Edmund in. His fingers briefly sift through brown, sweat soaked hair, before he tenderly caresses Edmund’s cheek and jaw. “And how am I to begrudge myself of either after learning that you are of the mind to assault our household with some miniature terror? I may not have a say in what manner of creature you choose to bring home with you, but I sure as hell have a right to do as I please in my own bed.” Having said his peace, Homer reveals the cigarette in his other hand, sucks it between his lips, and holds it there as he looks imploringly at Edmund.

Knowing that this is Homer’s way of giving in, Edmund rolls over, although not without difficulty, to reach the nightstand on his side. Homer is an insatiable sex addict, and his relentlessness often leaves Edmund thoroughly exhausted. Producing the matchbox that he has been holding ransom as one of many bargaining chips that are scattered about their living space, Edmund pulls out a match and strikes it. Homer stretches up to catch the flame with the end of his cigarette, languorously inhaling the oaky smoke that follows.

“I would choose a girl,” Edmund says as he leans back into Homer’s touch. His eyes are shining with the intensity of their lovemaking, as well as the joy in being granted his wish. And how can Homer deprive him of it now? “Perhaps between the ages of four and six, already weaned and disciplined.”

“Uh uh,” Homer grumbles with a shake of his head. “I ain’t gonna raise some girl who might one day join a brothel, or become some toff’s whore.”

The mere suggestion of his daughter-to-be sinking into an existence of such depravity causes Edmund to narrow his eyes at Homer in disdain. “That you would presume to imagine such a bleak future for our child...,” he begins threateningly.

“We’re gettin’ a boy. A tough one. A strong, fine lad who can get off his ass to help with the upkeep of this place when we’re too old and decrepit to do so ourselves,” Homer insists with all practicality. “I’m the one who’s gonna be fittin’ the bill for your new parenting project, so I’m the one who gets to make the final decision. Boy or nothing. Take it or leave it, darlin’.”

Looking somewhat crestfallen, Edmund begrudgingly nods in agreement. “Very well then, I will choose a boy.”

“Outside of White Chapel,” Homer adds, because he doesn’t want to deal with the only orphanage inside White Chapel. Or, more accurately, he wants to keep Edmund far away from his one-time dalliance, Deborah Gorem.

Edmund snuggles up against Homer, resting his head in the crook of Homer’s elbow and murmurs, “Inside White Chapel.”

There will be no end to this debate so Homer puts it to rest. “Fine. But if I catch you anywhere near that Gorem woman, there will hell to pay.” Not that he actually worries about Edmund straying from him. The man is as loyal and as loving as they come. It’s a shame that no one before Homer has every realized this.

And now here Homer loiters, flicking his third used-up cigarette over the railing of Gorem’s sanctuary for orphaned children. He prefers not to venture inside, so as not to be tempted to dissuade Edmund from his goal. Lighting up his fourth cigarette, he perversely wonders what the neighbors will think. Not only are he and Edmund - supposedly bachelors and roommates of convenience - living with each other, but now there will be a child running to and fro for all to see. He’ll leave the explaining to Edmund, as that is what Edmund does best.

Something soft and round smacks Homer in the side of the head, disturbing his train of thought, and causing a perfectly good cigarette to go sailing over the railing to join the remaining three butts in the dirt.

“Hey, watch it!” He shouts, rubbing at the sore spot on his temple that the children’s ball made contact with. He regrets expressing his annoyance almost immediately due to the group of sad looking misfits forlornly eyeing the ball at his feet. “I hope you’re happy now, Edmund,” he mutters under his breath as he stoops down to pick up the ball, then descends the steps to join the kids in their rowdy game of football.

Moments later, he hears the front door of the orphanage open and glances in trepidation in that general direction. Slowly, almost shyly, Edmund appears on the top step with a pint sized rag doll in his arms. The girl has long shaggy blond hair and dark eyes, and she’s wearing a tattered blue dress that has been repaired so many times it might soon fall apart. Homer approaches, on the verge of reminding Edmund that this is not what they agreed upon, but the absolute joy that his lover is radiating with stops him short. Edmund is hugging that girl to him as if she is already his, and she is staring at him in wondrous fascination. This is just what Edmund needs to occupy his time, Homer decides, dispensing of the need to argue on the point of the child’s gender. But when Edmund reaches down to take the hand of the young boy at his feet - the child that Homer just now notices - Homer is at a loss for words. The boy appears to be relatively the same age as the girl, with short dark hair and blue eyes, but he’s got a wild streak in him. Even from a distance, Homer can sense the willful energy about him.

“Please tell me you’re not serious,” Homer just about shouts when Edmund is within hearing range. “Pick one or the other, but not both.”

“But you insisted on a boy,” Edmund says as he presents Homer with his new _son_.

 _And I said no girl._ But Homer can’t reiterate his feelings on that subject, not with that bright eyed doll clinging to Edmund as if he might disappear from her at any moment. Of course, Edmund realizes that he has crossed the line and will pay dearly for his underhandedness, but he is still looking at Homer with hope and excitement in his eyes. At his side, the boy tugs at Edmund’s hand and tries to escape.

“Give me the boy,” Homer demands when it looks like Edmund might trip over his own feet trying to hold onto the girl and keep the boy in check.

“His name is Zachariah, and this is Luella.” Edmund introduces first the boy, and then the girl, before allowing Homer to take control of the former.

“Come along then, Zack,” Homer says, automatically shortening the boy’s name because there’s no way he’s going to be shouting _Zachariah_ every time the kid breaks something. He can’t deny that he hasn’t missed being near children, or being given the opportunity to raise one. He feels the strength in the boy’s arm and thinks that Edmund has picked a fine young rascal to upset the easy balance of their everyday lives. The girl, on the other hand, is a delicate mixture of sunshine and precociousness. Homer edges closer to Edmund and wraps an arm around his waist. “Nobody warned me that you would be this high maintenance,” he half jokes, smiling fondly at the happy look on Edmund’s face. This is what Edmund had been deprived of so many years ago. Far be it from Homer to deny him it now - the miracle of watching a child grow.

“You have my utmost gratitude for this concession, Homer. As well as my love.” Edmund presses against Homer, their shoulders and hips meeting, before he pulls away again to a discreet distance.

“I’ll have you making the dinner tonight as well.”

Together, they walk to the street, where Edmund flags down a hansom to take them home.


End file.
